


Comfortable

by evilmouse



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Jedi Academy Trilogy - Kevin J. Anderson
Genre: Everybody Lives, F/M, Feels, Florid Adjectives, Force Bond (Star Wars), Growing Old Together, Jedi Luke Skywalker, Married Sex, Married Skywalkers, Melancholy, Nobody is Dead, Nostalgia, Not exactly angst, Old Married Couple, Pat Conroy-esque, Purple Prose, Sexy Times, Spooning, Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:40:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22523392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilmouse/pseuds/evilmouse
Summary: After thirty-odd rainy seasons on the jungle moon, Luke Skywalker slept deeply, fully.  He was undisturbed by the water falling in violent sheets overhead, oblivious to the occasional calamitous thunderclap nearby or the more persistent growling rumbles in the distance, and immune to the slices of lightning that scorched the skies outside his window.But he woke up anyway.
Relationships: Mara Jade/Luke Skywalker
Comments: 26
Kudos: 61





	Comfortable

**Author's Note:**

> An early Valentine's Day gift to the L/M stans of the fic whining circle. Thanks for being my companions in Luke-lust over the past year <3 
> 
> Extra thanks to my incredible beta [JediMordsith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JediMordsith/pseuds/JediMordsith) for the support and encouragement!
> 
> And deepest personal thanks to Luke Skywalker for being fuckable at any age <3

When rain fell on Yavin IV, it was rarely a peaceful cascade. More frequently, the sound was insistent—drops that didn’t tumble gracefully to the earth, but rather stabbed like liquid spears through the jungle leaves, roared like the waterfalls of Akar Kesh. The deluge—it was almost always a deluge—dug deep pockmarks in the earth instead of dappling the ground with moisture. Whether it crashed from the heavens for three minutes or three hours, the torrent of tropical downpour was a fact of life, particularly in the rainy seasons. Most immigrants to the planet took a year or two to learn how to tune out the noise, especially at night, when the sonic tattoo could pierce the walls of the old Jedi temple as if they were made of shimmersilk instead of stone.

After thirty-odd rainy seasons on the jungle moon, Luke Skywalker slept deeply, fully. He was undisturbed by the water falling in violent sheets overhead, oblivious to the occasional calamitous thunderclap nearby or the more persistent growling rumbles in the distance, and immune to the slices of lightning that scorched the skies outside his window.

But he woke up anyway.

Blinking at the high ceiling, its contours and shadows, Luke registered the storm outside on that low priority level of awareness that also filed things like when the speeders were due for maintenance or datapads needed backing up. His thoughts were still muddy with sleep, limbs heavy, but the reason for consciousness soon asserted itself. Turning his neck ever so slowly to the right, he smiled at Mara’s sideways silhouette. The room was too dark to make out the details on the face he loved with ineffable and perfect familiarity.

She had taken a few more seasons to sleep through Yavin IV’s weather patterns than most—every noise a threat, every unpredictable silence a plot, every surge of water a swell of danger.

Tonight though, Mara slept with serenity. She was regal in her rest, nighttide shadows generously camouflaging the traces of years spent sharing one bed. Those years were full of extraordinary things, overstuffed with passion, bursting at the seams with joy, yet often bitterly laced with separation and worry. Luke took almost too long to appreciate his wife’s outline, made indistinct by the intricately-woven sherculién sheet blanketing her form, before swallowing a groan and leaving the mattress as quickly and quietly as possible.

One knee cracked a protest as he closed the refresher door. It was a dangerous game, to postpone biological functions at his age. If there was any moment that Time was an archfiend with malicious intent, it was when the demanding alarm of his own body struck past midnight. With a sigh, Luke took care of business and, although he didn’t need the lights to find his way, impulsively switched them on with the Force once finished.

The dim setting soaked the walls with faux moonglow. Luke stared at the sun-toughened face in the polished Kurasbark mirror opposite. Mara had insisted, years ago, on remodeling their rooms in the temple. A good idea, as hers usually were, Luke admitted, contemplating his own reflection. 

He rarely gave much thought to appearances lately. Shaving had become annoying, as every new wrinkle posed a challenge to the razor, oddly uneven skin threatening to revolt against the blade. Mara didn’t complain, but he knew she wasn’t a fan of beards, so more than a couple day’s scruff was as long as he would let himself ignore it. 

_Old people problems,_ Luke thought with a grin. The lines around his eyes looked deeper. He remembered the faint creases that had appeared in his twenties, but those fine etchings were now gullies, scored into rich definition by an abundance of smiles. The thought summoned another, stretching line-bracketed lips and carving crinkled skin at the acknowledgement of his own nostalgia, underscoring the truth of the assessment. It was a wonderful, rapturous thing to have happiness erode one’s features. Who could complain at such a price? It was more than worth it, to consider each wrinkle represented at least a thousand moments of delight, every furrow documented a generation’s ledger of laughs.

How many more smiles were left in him? Luke didn’t know, and the brightness in his eyes flickered at the thought. They were all getting older. Ben was long-since grown up, and thankfully the galaxy was mostly quiet. The Academy thrived, and Grand Master Skywalker was allowed to enjoy his semi-retirement in peace—only the occasional ceremonial appearance or family gathering interrupted the rhythm of the days.

Of course, Luke still taught. Lectured. Spent as much time as he could with the ranks of young Jedi that passed through the Praxeum. They still needed him—he wasn’t so modest as to think otherwise—but they needed him less and less. Which was a good thing. 

The man before his eyes now was content with life, in the knowledge of being shaped and transformed by it, but rarely complacent. Longevity was purported to bring wisdom upon its wizened heels, but more often Luke felt that the older he got, the less he truly understood. Time, in its uncaring, nonsensical irony, had reconstituted him into the boy that had been set adrift by the Force a lifetime ago, restless, searching, and sometimes surprisingly dissatisfied with where he was, although never whom he was with…

Mara was his center, and as long as he had her, Luke trusted his blood-steeped covenant with the Force and the greater universe. Mysteries could be allowed to rest unexplored, compromises were willingly negotiated, and any potential future pain was denied, self-bargained into oblivion in a secretive inner sanctum of his mind. He had almost lost her more than once, each possibility blistering a scar on his heart, no matter the eventual positive outcome. Some losses in this world were inescapable, natural even, but Luke had his absolutes, and Mara was all of them.

The water from the sink flowed the same tepid temperature as always, a constant on this jungle moon, and Luke abruptly doused his face after washing his hands. The drops didn’t settle anywhere, smoothly dripping down bristly cheeks. That was a good thing, he thought. His wrinkles weren’t so deep that they could rival Beggar’s Canyon, not yet.

Turning off the illumination panel the old-fashioned way, he slipped back into the bed, wincing as that knee gave another crack. It was the only joint in his body that resisted healing, but he would have to pay more attention to it, even if it meant a visit to the medcenter. The last thing Luke wanted to worry about was something as debilitating as arthritis. Age hadn’t yet proven to be insidious, but it certainly disguised its approach well—stealthy, if not exactly cruel. Its silent advance first only interrupted routine, created obstacles to regularity. Then one morning you realized that spot on your skin wasn’t from the suns, that neckache wasn’t the result of an uncomfortable hotel pillow, and daylight and energy were no longer endless resources.

Mara’s eyes slitted open. Storms no longer woke her, but her husband leaving her side, she had an instinct for that. 

“Sorry,” Luke whispered, the tone of his voice suggesting otherwise. 

“Everything all right?”

“Perfect,” he smiled, angling his chin forward to plant a kiss on the edge of her mouth.

A small chuckle was her response.

“What?” Luke’s question was mock defensive as Mara moved closer, then turned her back to him, inviting a spoon. He happily obliged, fingers lacing together and letting her tug his hand between her breasts.

“You’re oozing messy affection so sugary I can taste it,” she answered once encased in his arms.

“Is that a complaint?”

“Observation.” Mara wriggled more until well-nested against the line of his front. “I knew you were sentimental when I married you.”

Tightening his arms, Luke kissed her shoulder. The gale outside was getting louder, which meant it probably was close to ending.

“That was a long time ago,” he murmured.

Luke expected another lighthearted tease, but Mara seemed to grow heavier in his arms. She was well-attuned to him, and he realized too late that some of the pre-dawn reflection on his own dotage may have been carried out of the refresher. Insensitive, not to shelter her from his poorly-timed melancholy. 

He remembered when Mara found the first white hairs lurking amidst the glory of red on her head. She’d acted as if it were absolutely unremarkable. Of course it didn’t matter to him at all, but Luke knew every reminder of mortality hit his wife harder than him, no matter how hard she practiced indifference. Every day she fought against time, even as she professed to accept it. Each class of new Jedi was like a living, jewel-clustered trophy commemorating passing years, and it was only in the last few seasons that Mara had permitted herself to slow down. She was still gorgeous, the most beautiful woman in the galaxy, and Luke knew he wasn’t the only one who thought so. 

Every year the arriving students included a few lovesick apprentices—with Luke it was hero worship, with Mara it was plain and simple lust. She hadn’t aged gracefully, she had evolved like a statue—what once was supple hardened to stone, lean lines become almost gaunt through relentless training, even as those sculpted curves grew heavier, and softness slackened as the war of natural attrition was lost. 

Luke had also ceded a few battles to time, even if he hadn’t completely surrendered. Still, he retained the physique of a younger man, although not a _young_ man. The muscle definition was there, even if the skin covering them wasn’t as smooth or taut as it used to be. These defeats had never been worth noting; the Skywalkers worshipped one another in all manifestations. The love that defined their marriage was eternally zealous, and awe and devotion were shared in equal measure as they defied the decades and bowed to the inevitable together.

“Doesn’t always feel so long ago,” Mara said softly, and Luke slid his hand, still holding hers, lower on her belly. When he dipped between her legs, she pulled her fingers from his, reaching back to find him stiffening against her hip.

“Good thing or bad thing, that?” Luke asked, his hand gliding firmly between her thighs. She wasn’t helping, didn’t open for him, even as she began to stroke him. He could sense her smile at the question.

“You’ve had time to get good at this,” she replied, gasping as he rewarded her joke with manual proof of just how true that statement was. Luke had learned her quickly—and never stopped learning. It was clear this evening that his wife was being teasingly uncooperative, and he was fine with that. Her legs stayed clenched, even as she squirmed in pleasure at his touch. 

Taking full advantage of Mara’s good mood, Luke wrapped his right forearm across her sternum, bringing her hard to his chest as he kissed and sucked along her neck. She wasn’t yet ready, but she was getting there, jerking against the press of his body as he used his other hand to coax a nipple to hardness. When Mara was slow to wetness, it was more of an opportunity than challenge. Luke knew he could ignite her like a desert brushfire, work her into a lather, exhaust her limits before claiming her orgasm as a joint victory. 

Her hand around his cock squeezed, almost but not quite to the edge of pain, and Luke sucked harder in retaliation at the arch of her shoulder. She would have a mark, he thought, not sorry in the least.

He knew it was common to view Jedi, particularly of his rank, as affable ascetics. The perception had usually amused, sometimes offended, but all too often been horribly inconvenient in his youth. Although he’d never taken a vow of chastity, sometimes, especially in the early days of the Order, Luke had wondered if a sexless existence would be his default. Shifting between two extremes—fawning groupies and awestruck acolytes, detachment and self-denial had seemed the safest course for far too long. In those days, his love affairs had been with training: his lightsaber, target remotes, and X-wing. The harder the physical exertion, the less space Luke had to feel sorry for himself.

Then there was Mara.

“Luke,” she breathed into his thoughts, and that was playing dirty, because Mara knew exactly what his name in that tone did to him. A drop of precum leaked from the crown of his cock, and Mara spread it, circling with her thumb. A low groan escaped, and Luke shoved harder between her fingers, memories of involuntary celibacy evaporating like waterdrops on a Dune Sea sandstone.

Mara’s thighs still tensed as Luke dipped his middle finger between her folds. He looped one heel over the top of her shin, sliding it down and spreading her unyielding legs with effort as he added another finger to the first. Her juices had started to flow. Mara paused in her attentions to his cock, sighing as she turned her head. Their lips met in an alignment perfected by experience and intimacy.

No matter how many times he kissed her, no matter how often they made love, nothing could stop Luke from losing himself completely in Mara. Everything was blissfully ripped away by lips and tongue and the knowledge that they didn’t just love one another, they lived for one another. Luke used to wonder, perhaps too often, if being “in love” for other people even approached this, and had always come to the same conclusion, arrogant as it was: probably not, but it was unfair to speculate. He hoped, with all the earnestness and optimism of his faded youth, that other people in the galaxy had discovered what they had, while simultaneously fearing it was impossible. 

_I love you_ , he sent through the Force bond between them, and felt the heat of Mara’s reply as she pulled away from the circle of his arms. Twisting around, Mara’s palms framed Luke’s face, kissing him so hard he felt weak—overcome with reverence for the woman he’d married. Love, bright and raw, spilled between them, charging the air with electricity that rivaled the lightning ravaging the moon outside. She was his match in every way, and Luke didn’t care how much a sappy fool it made him to adore her with every fiber of his being.

She nipped lightly at his lower lip; Luke opened his eyes to meet the dark shine of hers.

“I love you.” His repeated promise was clear despite the still-drumming rain and fading grind of thunder. 

“Still,” she smiled as Luke rolled on top of her, mouth playing at her earlobe before trailing kisses down her throat.

“Forever,” he confirmed, the word turning her playfulness to pliancy. 

Mara’s twined her arms solidly around him, pulling Luke down into a firm embrace. Their lips met again, the heat of want mingled with the confidence of commitment. Understanding, explicit and total, ensured nothing remained unknown between them, nothing willfully hidden. That wasn’t to say they still couldn’t surprise one another—a smirk threatened at the memory of his last erotic ambush—but there was security in rituals, undeniable and extreme pleasure having one another’s erogenous topography surveyed, mapped, and explored to exhaustion over the years.

Propped up on one forearm, Luke licked at one nipple, taking it hard into his mouth and sucking until she arched into the pressure. With a rough swipe of his tongue wetting a path over her breast, he bent Mara’s right knee up and to the side, driving inside her slick heat with a sigh. She echoed the sound as he held deep, clamping around his cock in a delicious squeeze. This was something that would never get old.

His wife laughed, the mood broken, a swat of one hand at his chest as he pressed even further inside her.

“Have you forgotten how to shield, Master Skywalker, or just decided sex needed a running commentary this evening?”

“First of all, it’s technically morning now, and secondly, in my defense, I’m sure I thought the exact same thing the first time we made love.”

She rolled her eyes, glittering in the dark, and laughed again.

“Shut off your brain and fuck me, husband.”

“You always were good at giving orders,” Luke shrugged his amenability.

“You’ve finally gotten good at taking them,” she retorted.

It wouldn’t do to ruin the moment any more than he had, so Luke answered with a kiss. The patter of rain was less urgent on the temple roof now, the squall in retreat, as he complied with his wife’s command.

He sensed Mara’s tacit request to stay close, messaged by her arms, still looped around his back, and hands, flat and pressed against his shoulders. Laying heavily atop her, thrusting hard, Luke let the power of the motion speak for itself. Slowly, repeatedly, he withdrew before slamming deep. Mara’s hands became rigid, inexorably dragging a line of pleasure down his spine. She settled on his ass, holding him, pulling him to her as Luke drove faster, checking his shields reflexively.

Although they did sometimes make love entirely without shielding, it was by necessity the exception rather than the rule.

Their Force bond was consuming, its strength almost nuclear during sex. Abandoning to it completely charged the blood, combined individual identities into one soul, and resulted in a hazy, roaring, dazzling confusion of aphrodisia. It was a brand of ecstasy that lent itself to obsession. 

In early days, bond-infused sex had been dangerous in its power—a fiery, sustained combustion of Light that danced too close to the fear of loss. Both of them had recognized the lure of the Dark in passion of that caliber, and it took practice—lots of magnificent, memorable, sensual practice—and trust to surrender to it. While over time they had mastered the art, it was too intense and concentrated to undertake without preparation and focus. Luke and Mara had discovered and often substituted a comfortable balance, a blend of openness and limits, that allowed their bond to thrive while protecting their minds from emotional inundation.

Their mouths met, the glow of the bond enhanced and refracted like light through a prism at the contact. Sex wasn’t always like this, wasn’t always divine or essential, but it _was_ always good, always beyond satisfying, always gilded with a sense of deliverance and completion unlike anything else in life. 

Mara amazed him; her love for him had at first bewildered, then transfixed with its purity and weight. Her heart owned him entirely, and its dominion somehow also granted Luke regency, gifted him the same authority over her. It was something he would never understand or question, but he loved it, as he loved her. They served one another, even as they ruled.

It was that control Luke drew upon now, exiling his own orgasm until he was ready for release. Thus liberated, he isolated Mara’s most sensitive spots inside and out, tasted her excitement as it climbed, unchecked and primal, at his touch, his kiss, his thrusts. Her breaths grew shorter, accelerating gasps against his ear. Luke pushed up and held the angle as Mara came, hips slamming, then pulsing into his, a cry leaving her lips.

He recorded the sound in his memory, adding it to the litany of aural poetry that made up a breathtaking musical mosaic, part of the detailed masterpiece he’d assembled over the years that was entitled _Love of Mara_. Luke’s greatest fear these days wasn’t death—that was the way of the Force. But what he couldn’t imagine was the forgetfulness of age, the cold-blooded amnesia that might sadistically rob him of these memories, the knowledge of her, and the reality of their love, so hard-won and sustaining. Luke quite seriously thought he would rather die.

“Luke.”

Her hands were hot against his unshaven cheeks, and Mara lifted her neck from the pillow to capture his lips in a kiss that was heart-rending in its gentleness.

Upset at the idea that his piss-poor shielding had once again destroyed the mood, Luke blinked rapidly, eyes meeting Mara’s in the dark.

“I’m—”

“Don’t say you’re sorry,” she cut him off quietly.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me tonight,” Luke sighed in compromise. He pulled out, cock no longer cooperative. 

Mara kissed him again, harder this time. “Lie down.”

That resulted in a small smile as he obeyed. “Another order?”

“If that’s what it takes,” she grinned, her mouth a gleam of white as she straddled him. With a practiced hand, she pumped him to full attention in seconds, then took him inside with a sweet moan.

“Your cock is too thick.”

Luke laughed, feeling her inner walls tighten as he did so. “You’re a wonderful liar.”

Riding him harder, Mara leaned over, bracing one hand on the wall. Luke raised his head to take her nipple between his teeth, one hand caressing the other breast. 

“I mean it,” she sighed. “Haven’t I ever told you before?”

Releasing her nipple and switching sides, Luke shook his head. 

_Nope,_ he sent through their bond, loving her even more for yanking him out of his gloom, teasing him with her absurd compliments.

In response, Mara lowered her shields and Luke felt her affection wash over him like a tidal surge, dense and refreshing. And floating atop the rush of emotion like a glaze of sea foam, clearly, truly, was the evidence that his wife wasn’t lying. She actually thought his cock was preposterously thick, not that she was complaining. Luke couldn’t imagine how it had never come up before.

Kissing him deeply, thoroughly, Mara sat back up, increasing her tempo. Luke was mesmerized by the sight, hands grasping her hips as she rose and fell. His orgasm, no longer banished, flooded his bones with a vengeance, turning his muscles watery and vision blurry as it possessed, shook, and discarded him in an exquisite, extended assault.

Satisfied and smug, his wife collapsed against his chest, turning her head to the side and placing a tender kiss on the collarbone nearest her ear. Luke wound his arms across her shoulders, one hand stroking her grey-shot hair. After three decades, she could still surprise him.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“So that’s why you married me? Thick cock?” Luke smiled into the darkness, eyes closing.

“I’ll make you a list,” Mara mumbled against his skin. “Cock’s near the top.”

“Long list?”

“Very long, husband,” she snickered. “And thick.”

His smile widened. There wasn’t an ounce of melancholy left in his thoughts, and he owed it to his wife. She was never collusive in his defeatism, rare as it was. The acceptance and understanding Mara offered was beyond anything he’d ever dreamed possible.

“Sleep well,” Luke whispered, kissing the top of her head as the gauzy peace of impending sleep started to descend.

“Sweet dreams,” Mara answered, shifting to lie along his side, one arm draped across his chest.

 _Nothing can top reality,_ Luke sent through the bond, feeling Mara’s amused brush of agreement in response before he drifted off. Outside, the torrid rains at last were tamed, weightless drops tumbling to soothe the battered earth. Dying thunderheads disintegrated in currents of cooling air, as the sultry ardor of the storm faded like dreams in the night, making way for a new dawn.


End file.
